Counterpoise
by Departures
Summary: This is Hikari, trying to decide if she and Daisuke sync well. Daikari.


This is for a friend of mine, whose talent I admire with marvel and a trace of good-natured envy.

I do not own Digimon.

Summary: This is Hikari, trying to decide if she and Daisuke sync well.

**Counterpoise**

Disorder. Hikari hears it through the door: voices and the television speaking to everyone who wants to stop and listen and a phone ringing tirelessly while something sizzles and fries; pots being moved, cabinet doors being shut, a bouncing ball maybe, a howl of someone who's being jostled into lunacy, the familiar triumphant laughter that has lately engraved itself into Hikari's most tangible and preferred memories.

She hears her doubt, which is a nervous sound. It doesn't have the same harmony as the sounds on the other side.

Her knuckles drum on the door, scarcely breathing as she tries to decide if what she's contributing syncs well with the rhythms of this world.

And then footsteps, to the same cadence of her knock.

The sun cascades on her shoulders and back, heating her skin, reminding her that anxiety is also creating its own pulse in her chest. It also illuminates Daisuke's sincere mocha eyes. Squinting but grinning, he says her name contentedly, raising a wiry arm to shield his face as he steps back, introducing her to his home.

"She's here!"

The television is on, like she imagined, its audience an empty room of sofas and picture frames that Hikari feels she needs to look at. Mrs. Motomiya is subtly dancing in the kitchen, cooking. Jun appears, lively Jun, who has her hands poised on her hips, her hair half ironed into sleek straightness.

"You're brave," is all she says to Hikari, admiration coating the expression of shock conquering her face.

"Shut up," Daisuke blushes. It is a shade of red caused by infatuation.

Jun gives Hikari a knowing look that sends her into a flustered panic. The phone ringing again draws Jun away from them, but not without winking first and almost colliding with Mr. Motomiya, who had answered and now is saying that Shuu wants to speak to her.

Daisuke introduces Hikari to his parents, and she's all shy smiles and concentrating on the horizontal, single white strip that cuts through the deep blue of Daisuke's shirt. The chime of silverware during dinner and the surges of laughter appeal to Hikari. They have an effortless melody. Daisuke's smile is rejuvenating from the peripheral of her vision.

Dessert is a burnt disaster that Daisuke outwardly thanks Jun for, who attacks Daisuke's ability to pour drinks. Can't he see that a colossal drop of juice escaped as he tipped over the pitcher, forever damaging her skirt? Daisuke claims he might have seen it, if his vision had not been impaired from the smoke from her first patch of cookies. She's really angry now. Their parents laugh and Hikari screens her grin behind her cup, wanting to say that the drink was sweet, and the drop must have been, too.

Hikari offers to help clean up. Mr. Motomiya says no – guests don't need to worry, he says, and she should become use to this if she's going to be over a lot more. She must have had the same red color of infatuation because Daisuke motions her toward the living room. He'll be there soon, he tells her. Then Jun pinches his cheek with a soapy hand, and the entire Motomiya family chuckles.

She wanders over to the picture frames, which seem to be the only place where the Motomiyas are still.

A picture of a wedding.

Jun without a front tooth, a picture of her at the beach in a green bathing suit.

One of Jun cradling a baby in white blankets.

One where Mr. Motomiya is falling over and his children and wife smile at the camera, oblivious.

Young Jun and Daisuke looking at each other.

Mrs. Motomiya and Daisuke standing in front of the elementary school. Hikari recognizes the backpack that Daisuke wears.

Daisuke in his uniform and cleats. Daisuke and his green uniform and dress shoes. Jun in one of them, catching her brother by surprise.

Jun's twentieth birthday cake, with Daisuke's name frosted over the beautiful frosting on by an untrained hand.

A father's day meal. Burnt pancakes, a puddle of juice in the corner of the tray.

A family portrait. Smiles. Daisuke's spirit reaching Hikari's. She understands that Jun's hand on her brother's shoulder is a supportive one. Mrs. Motomiya is hugging their children, and is being looked at by Mr. Motomiya with nothing but devotion.

Hikari thinks of her spacious living room, its pristine furniture, its polished picture frames. There is a portrait of her family like this one that she's picked up to inspect. Her family has pictures like these, memories that stop Hikari when she thinks about the happiness her family has brought her. They offer her balance.

But Daisuke offers her an unusual stability, another type of steadiness and ease.

Daisuke's hands on her back now, like the sun. "Sorry. Are you ready to go?"

"You still have soap on your face," is all Hikari says, brushing his cheek, feeling the bright redness on his nice skin. Maybe she will stick around, to discover just what about Daisuke pulls her toward him.


End file.
